


Sounds like the name of a heavy metal band

by fickle_fics



Category: The Thick Of It
Genre: Anal Play, F/M, grey white
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-31
Updated: 2013-08-31
Packaged: 2017-12-25 05:20:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/949083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fickle_fics/pseuds/fickle_fics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grey's always had a bit of a <i>thing</i> for the idea of penetrating Malcolm, as it turns out there's a first time for everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sounds like the name of a heavy metal band

**Author's Note:**

> Written for kink_bingo's virginity square.

Grey slips herself into Malcolm’s lap without so much as a word, reading the article on the BBC website on the screen of his laptop in front of him. He huffs slightly, very pointedly squirming beneath her. “Comfy there, darling?” he asks.

“Not bad,” she replies, turning her head to kiss him quickly, shifting against him to try and make herself a little more comfortable, and possibly him a little less.

“Wasn’t aware I’d asked for a fucking lap dance,” he mutters, making a point of sounding more annoyed than he actually is, because while he may have been on the cusp on being busy he isn’t stupid enough to push Grey off his lap, not even now. Especially not now, with her rubbing against him like that whether that’s her intention or not, though thinking about it it probably is, because Grey‘s kind of wonderfully evil like that. He could probably fight the urge, of course. He has a remarkable amount of self control when he wants to, he just doesn’t particularly want to right now, which is why he just sits back and lets it happen. Allows himself to succumb to the erection caused by his incredibly beautiful, if somewhere distracting girlfriend, writhing around in his lap.

She presses back into the bulge instinctively, her back ached away from him, as she continues to read the article about the state of the government and their new policy on taxation, though she’s only half focused on the words, which is probably why she isn’t swearing and pointing out how hypocritical the whole thing is, because there’s something about being in Malcolm’s lap that distracts her from how angry she is with the coalition.

“Y’know I’ve always been really thankful I’m not a bloke,” she says, still reading.

“Mmhmm?”

“I mean the whole raging hard-on thing, it’s got to be inconvenient, hasn’t it?” She shifts inelegantly, grabbing onto his arm as she turns fully in his lap so she’s facing him. “Like if I had a cock I’d have had no fucking chance pretending I didn’t want to fuck you.”

“Steady with the romance there, darling. Also, for the record me knowing you wanted to fuck me is kind of the least of my worries regarding you having a cock.”

She flashes him the filthiest smile he’s ever seen and he presses up against her automatically. He should probably move his laptop really, the last thing he needs is to have to explain how yet another laptop has come to be damaged in his possession. He’s sure he can’t get away with it many more times before they make him pay for his own.

“Yeah I can see how that kind of thing might get in the way.”

“Plus there’d be the whole jealousy issue.”

“Jealousy?”

“We both know you’d be hung like a fucking horse, darling,” he growls, and he knows he shouldn’t be getting into this conversation, not with Grey of all people, because he knows the way her mind works. He’s asking for trouble here, but he’s hard and she’s close and it tends to become incredibly difficult to give a shit about anything in those circumstances.

“Just as well I don’t then. You wouldn’t be able to take me, and that would be fucking heartbreaking.”

“I’d give it a good go,” he says. “As it’s you.”

Grey looks at him and doesn’t say anything and just for a moment he wonders if he’s finally gone too far. He was pretty certain there was no such thing as too far with Grey. They’ve had conversations about necrophilia and theoretical threesomes with alternative versions of themselves. This is nothing surely?

“Yeah?” she says quietly, and she presses against him, a sudden tidal wave of desire that just makes her wants to fuck him hard and fast right here while he talks to her about penetrating him, only she feels a little too light headed to actually risk moving.

“Well you know that’s what lube’s for right? And you wouldn’t judge me for crying a bit, would you?”

“I’d be gentle,” she says, seriously and she knows it’s a joke, just another slightly subversive thing for them to talk about, because they don’t have conversations about the weather or about food, or about where they should go on holiday. They have conversations about how they’d manage their sex life if one of them suddenly turned into an animal. So this, _this_ is positively vanilla.

“I’m sure you would, darling. I’m sure you’d be very tender,” he laughs and kisses her hungrily. “First time for everything, right?”

“Get fucked, Tucker.”

He raises his hips pointedly.

“Anyway, I appreciate you being so willing to let me fuck you if I had a cock.”

“Well we both know the only thing stopping you from penetrating me’s the lack of equipment, yeah? I accepted that a long time ago, darling,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand.

She raises an eyebrow at that. “Lack of equipment?” she repeats, and he instantly knows where this is going and he can’t decide if he’s more terrified or turned on.

“You’ve got the equipment, haven’t you?”

She laughs, reaches to undo the top button of his shirt and leans in to kiss his neck. “I haven’t actually. Why would I?”

“I dunno, it just seems like the sort of thing you’d have, lurking in the back of your wardrobe somewhere. _Waiting_.”

“Not much point in buying a strap-on if you’re not planning on fucking anyone with it. But no, sweetheart, lack of equipment isn‘t the only thing stopping me penetrating you. I‘ve got fingers, haven‘t I?” She wriggles them in front of his face as if to make a point and his cock leaps.

“Grey,” he breathes

“You want to know what’s stopping me _penetrating_ you, Malc?”

He nods, not trusting his voice, an experience he only seems to get around her. “I wasn’t sure you’d be ready for it, or if you’d be into it, and y’know nothing ruins a great shag like having an unwanted finger stuck up your arse.”

There are probably at least a hundred more delicate ways of phrasing that, but the fact that Grey doesn’t go for any of them is exactly why Malcolm’s with her. She’s like him - she just comes out with it.

“Plus I wasn’t entirely sure how to bring the topic up. ‘Mind if I insert myself into you?’”

“Ask me now,” he says. “We’re already talking about it, so go on, ask me.”

“Do you want to?”

“Do I want to what, darling?” he asks and he doesn’t suppose he should be pushing her, because this is quite a big deal - something Grey hasn’t been able to say, but wanted to by the sounds of it and that means something, but he can’t help it. He wants to hear her say the words, and if she won’t, if she suddenly removes herself from his lap and refuses to talk to him, well he’ll follow her and apologise and do whatever the fuck it is she wants him to, even if that means not talking at all.

She gives him a look as if she’s about to slap him, and he’s fairly certain he’d accept it, because he is being kind of a prick, but if this is a surprise to her, well she’s clearly not been paying attention.

“Do you want me to fuck you, Malcolm?” she asks, her lips against his ear so he can’t see her face, and he knows what that’s about. They can’t have these kinds of discussions face to face, the ones that make them feel a bit vulnerable and awkward. No they can only have those late at night via emails or text message when they’re both a little bit drunk and a little too far away from each other..

“You already fuck me, all the time.” He slips his hand beneath her t-shirt, thumb stroking against her back. _It’s okay, it’s okay. Just say it. Say it for me_.

“You’re lucky I fucking love you, cunt,” she hisses

“I know.”

“Do want me to penetrate you, Malc?” she whispers, and he can feel her eyelashes against his neck as she closes her eyes. “Do you want me inside you, sweetheart? My fingers? My cock?”

He swallows thickly. It’s one of many things he hadn’t really thought about much until Grey entered his life, turned up on his doorstep with assertions that she wanted to sleep with him, that she actually _liked_ him despite the fact she’d seen exactly what he was like at work. And now it’s practicallly enough to make him come in his pants. “Yes, darling,” he almost purrs.

“Are you saying this because you’ve got a massive hard-on and you want me to fuck you?” 

“No, no. I don’t think so.”

She presses her lips against his neck, kissing before biting down just a little, making him moan at the hint of pain. “I’m gonna have to ask you again after we’ve come then, aren’t I?” she asks.

He manages to push his laptop out of the way just before Grey reaches down to undo his flies, unbuttoning his boxers with shaking hands and releasing his cock, sliding her hand along it a few times before eagerly pushing down her jeans, just enough to be able to fuck him and all he can think is how lucky he is to have found someone so desperate to have him inside them that they can’t even be bothered to take them off the whole way.

Somewhere along the lines they’ve managed to shed more clothing. Grey’s t-shirt pulled from her body and tossed away, Malcolm’s shirt unbuttoned and hanging loosely from his shoulders because actually taking it off involved too much movement and effort. Even Grey’s jeans have worked their way down to her ankles, though not as far as the floor. She’s still shaking slightly against him, breathless and clinging to him, her blonde hair a mess.

“Fuck,” she sighs, her head pressed against his, and she isn’t sure if she came so quickly because of their conversation, because of all the mental images filling her mind while she fucked him like her life depended on it or what, but she’s sure she’s never come quite so fast before, not even back when she used to get off using a vibrator and the thought of him hissing obscenities in her ear.

He chuckles and kisses her lazily, holding her against him, still inside her, though it’s becoming increasingly difficult since his orgasm. “So,” he says. “I believe there was something you wanted to ask me?”

She pulls back to look at him, her glare much less convincing with her flushed, breathless and sweaty in his lap. “Can I be inside you please?” she asks, and he can feel her muscles tighten around him at the question.

“You promise you’ll be gentle with me, darling?”

“Promise.”

“Then I’d be honoured to allow you to take my anal virginity.”

And just like that it’s decided.

***

It isn’t something they really talk about again. They just carry on as normal - him coming in far too late to find her curled up on his sofa quietly reading because nobody’s supposed to know she’s there. They drink (whiskey for him, vodka for her) and shag in every room of his second home, her on top, him on top, neither of them on top and it’s always amazing but it’s as if their agreement’s just been completely forgotten and he isn’t sure how to bring it up because he doesn‘t want to look _too_ keen.

And then it happens.

It starts off normally enough - Grey pouncing on him the moment he’s in the door, vodka on her tongue, as she undoes his tie and pulls him towards the bedroom as he follows, stumbling as he kicks off his shoes, and shrugs off his jacket, dropping it to the floor behind him.

“What the fuck's got into you?” he asks, words muffled against her lips.

“Well nothing yet, thought I should wait for you.” She undoes the buttons of his shirt like a woman possessed, pushing his shirt off his body before going to work on her own clothes as he takes care of his with only a inch or two between them and then she’s on him again, dragging him on to the bed, tongue down his throat, fingers pressing into his back as she pushes against him like they‘ve not had sex in months.

“Seriously, Grey, are you on fucking E or something?”

“No, I’m just horny, are you complaining? I can have a quick wank if there’s something you’d rather be doing.”

“Something I’d rather be doing than you? Are you fucking delusional?”

“Then put your filthy mouth to better use, yeah? There’s a good boy.”

“Good boy?”

“Malcolm.”

“Aye, alright, I’m just saying… _good boy_. You going to ask me to call you mistress next?”

“Tell you,” she corrects. “Not ask, tell.” And there’s something in her tone, something so threatening that it gets him harder still.

“Yes, mistress,” he says as if it’s a joke, as if he doesn’t feel his cock jump the moment the words leave his mouth.

“Less talk, more oral.”

He tries to give her his best put upon look, as if going down on her is some terrible hardship. He doesn’t bother kissing his way down her body, it seems like a waste of time all things considered and Grey isn’t a patient woman at the best of times.

 

She’s still panting when he makes his way up her body, a particularly smug smile on his face as he licks his lips obscenely. “Feeling a little less pent up now, darling?”

“A bit,” she leans up and kisses him, tongue tracing over his lips as if she wants to taste herself on them. “Got more work to do?”

“Not tonight, I‘m all yours.”

The words turn her on more than anything else. She rarely gets his undivided attention and it means far too much to her, being able to keep him in bed all night, and there are so many things she wants to do with him.

“Phone’s off?”

“All. Yours,” he reiterates.

She straddles him, knees either side of his hips as she looks down at him, laying there beneath her, naked and waiting and _all hers_. Sometimes she just wants to stay here like this, just watching him, because she doesn’t get to have him like this nearly enough - unhurried.

“And tomorrow?” she asks.

“What about tomorrow?”

“Any plans to get up at 5am and work all day?”

“Not unless there’s a disaster, why d’y’ask?”

“Trying to work out how long I can keep you up for, and yeah, I mean that in both senses of the word.”

He smirks, and pushes himself up off the bed, shifting so she’s more in his lap than on top of him. “You can keep me up all night, darling. In both senses of the word. You know me, three hours sleep and I’m golden, and you know there’s nothing I’d rather be doing, or you know, no one.” He kisses her then, arms wrapping round and exploring her body, fingers running over the ridges of her spine, down to the dip of her lower back.

“I love these epic proclamations of love,” she says, though her hands are in his hair, and she’s leaning back into his touch, too eager, always too eager to take full advantage of being naked with him because this is something else that doesn’t happen enough, but then she’s fairly sure there’s no such thing as enough when it comes to him, a thought she really doesn’t want to be having.

“Got a problem with my words, darling? You can always shut me up, you know?”

It never stops - the banter, and she has no idea what she’d do if it did. If he became sweet and romantic. Well she’d hate it, she’d cringe and not know what to say or how to take it. That’s arguably why she fell in love with him, because she could never imagine him scattering rose petals on a bed surrounded by candles.

“Yeah but you know how much I love to hear you talk. It’s the accent, you know, it’s ever so sexy.”

He probably should have known better than to suggest it, sometimes she takes his hints, but he has to catch her at the right moment and obviously this isn’t it, possibly because she’s already come once, so she doesn’t have all that much to lose, unlike him.

“You want to hear me talk, darling?” he says, pulling her closer against him, pressing up against her just in case she wasn’t fully aware of the raging erection against her body.

“Yeah, I want to hear you talk. I always want to hear you talk. It’s the only thing stopping me sticking my tongue down your throat the whole time I’m with you.”

“Would you like to hear about my day at work? You want to hear about the fucking idiots I have to deal with on a daily basis?”

“Well I do kind of enjoy it when you’re full of rage,” she admits. Her fingers tangling in his short hair, tugging slightly, a test perhaps to work out exactly what’s going on his in head. What he needs. She kisses him, soft and tender. “Talk to me, Malcolm, tell me what you want,” she says, the words spoken against his lips because she can’t quite pull away.

“I want you fucking me,” he says, raising his hips again, moving one hand down between her legs, touching her firmly and she’s wet and warm and so inviting. She’s always so inviting. He slips a couple of fingers inside her curling and thrusting them in a practised motion. “I want your nails and your teeth. I want you hurting me, darling.”

She closes her eyes, tries to focus on forming sentences, which is far too difficult and always has been when parts of his anatomy are inside her. “Lie down,” she says. “Carefully, ideally without stopping what you’re doing.”

Again he smirks, unsurprised by either of her orders, though he had rather been hoping to have her like this. Her in his lap, riding him, but he trusts her completely. She’s never once disappointed him. She knows what she’s doing. And so he does what he’s told, slightly awkward as he keeps his fingers moving inside her.

He watches her from his position on the bed, sitting up on top of him, watches his fingers and the way her lips twitch.

“Grey?” he says, his voice less steady than he’d been aiming for.

“Yeah?”

“That whole fucking me thing?”

She smiles, leans over and kisses him slowly. “You know how distracting your fingers are.”

He stills then removes them, because well, she was asking for it, wasn’t she? And okay perhaps she’ll protest and he’ll have to make it up to her but there are significantly worse things in the world than having to selflessly pleasure a naked Grey, so it’s always worth the risk.

“You fucking bastard,” she hisses, nails digging into his shoulders as if that’s some kind of punishment.

“You said-”

He can’t finish his sentence because once again her tongue’s in his mouth, and her hand’s on his cock and he can feel her weight lifting from his body, he knows what that means and it’s difficult not to get distracted. As she slides down on to him he can’t quite keep the moan into her mouth in. It’s a little annoying really, her ability to make him lose control every single time.

She pulls back then, sitting on top of him as she moves slowly though it takes all her restraint to manage it, but she has him all night, and she _wants_ him all night, and prolonging his pleasure, hearing all those sounds he makes is worth the self control. She can only keep it up for so long though, and finally she reaches behind her, touching him and moving further down for just a second, before she stops, and slips her middle finger into her mouth slowly, well aware of Malcolm‘s eyes on her..

Malcolm’s heart and cock leaps at the sight, and he isn’t sure if it’s wishful thinking or what but why else would she need to lubricate her finger? He’s half terrified though, half terrified and half unbelievably turned on. And then her finger’s there, warm and wet and pressing against him and just for a second or two he holds his breath, readying himself.

“Malc?”

“Mmm?”

“You okay, sweetheart?” she asks, still moving against him, though her finger’s still, waiting. “I mean…”

“I know what you mean, darling.” And it’s taking some willpower on his part not to press closer, because he wants to know what it’s like, he wants the anticipation to be out of the way. He wants her inside him. He wants to experience this. With her. “And I’m fine, I’m fucking amazing.” And he does press a little closer then because actions speak louder than words.

“You can stop me. If you don’t like it,” she says.

“I know I can.” As if he isn’t fully aware she’d stop anything the moment he said so or didn’t seem completely into it. Grey might be in charge most of the time, but she isn’t one to force things.

“I fucking love you,” she says, as she presses into him slow and careful. And he’s so hot and so tight and her mind instantly goes to the fantasy of fucking him properly, because if it feels this amazing with just her finger she can only imagine how good it would feel with a cock. “Malc,” she closes her eyes, concentrates on how he feels, filling her as she fills him, her perfect man.

“I’m here, darling.” He voice is strained because there are so many things happening, pleasure and pain and it’s strange, uncomfortable, invading but so wonderfully intimate.

She isn’t sure why she’s said his name. It's just one of those things - a filler, because sometimes she loses herself in him and it’s as if his name’s a screensaver in her mind. She carries on, fucking him and curling her finger inside him, slow and steady, all her focus on that finger, everything else on autopilot. 

And then she stills on top of him, though her finger’s still moving, pressing into him, searching for his prostate. “I need to stop,” she says and the disappointment from Malcolm is almost palpable.

“Sorry?”

“I need-I can’t… _fuck_!” And her finger stops, and she removes herself from inside him.

“You can’t what?” he sits up instantly, feeling terribly empty and lost because everything’s just… _stopped_ and that isn’t like her.

She presses her forehead against his, her eyes closed as she searches for the words to explain what’s going on in her head. “Not like this,” she says quietly.

“Like what?” He kisses the edge of her mouth, because she’s just too close not to kiss. “Tell me how you want me, Grey, tell me how you want this.” Because he doesn’t care about the hows or the whys or any of that stuff, he just wants her inside him again.

She manages to find his mouth with her lips, eyes still closed and she kisses him like he’s her idol, tender and reverent, because sometimes Malcolm Tucker manages to be exactly what she needs exactly when she needs it and he gets rid of all the horrible anxious bollocks in her mind.

“I need to stop fucking you,” she says, and it’s the hardest thing she’s had to say in a while.

“Okay.” He can’t say it’s what he wants but he’ll deal with it, because this isn’t the end, he knows that much.

Slowly, reluctantly she rises herself, a sound of disappointment when he’s no longer inside her that he echoes.

“Lie down,” she says, shuffling backwards and settling between his legs.

He does as he’s told. He always does as he’s told in these circumstances, because she’s in charge here, almost always, and he’s always been under the impression she’s significantly more experienced in the more ‘interesting’ aspects of sex. He settles down into his pillow and looks up at her. And she looks so sexy, so confident and so determined. “So…now what?”

“I wanted to do it properly,” she says, running her hands up and down his legs, either side of her. “You’re so fucking _distracting_ with your cock and your fingers and your fucking _sounds_. I couldn’t focus. I _need_ to focus. I don’t want it to be some add-on. It needs to be the only thing.”

“The only thing?”

“I don’t want you getting overwhelmed. I don’t want _me_ getting overwhelmed. I want to see your face, your reactions.” She needs to not be too distracted to notice if he isn’t into it.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a control freak, darling?” 

She smiles, only barely managing not to burst out laughing. “This coming from you, Tucker?”

“That’s how I know. Takes one to know one and all that.” He curls his leg around her back though, pulls her a little closer. “You want me to beg, Grey? You want me to beg for your fingers? You want me to beg for you to penetrate me?” His cock twitches at the mere thought, because it was great before, but she may have been right, it’s always been pretty difficult to focus on anything else when she’s on top of him, fucking him like that.

“If you’re offering.”

“Fucking cunt.”

“Fucking prick.” She leans down, kisses his stomach, as she sits up again though she slides two fingers into her mouth.

“Do it,” he hisses.

Without any comeback she does as he asks, just her middle finger first, slow as it was before, and she watches him carefully, the way his lip quirks as she presses in, the way he exhales sharply because she isn’t entirely certain he’d say if he found it too painful, or if he’d just take it, because sometimes Malcolm Tucker is kind of an idiot.

“Pass me my pillow,” she says. “And raise your hips.” She slips it beneath him, making it easier for the both of them.

“You know all the tricks, don’t you?” And there’s a vague pang of jealousy, for just a moment, until he looks at her and remembers exactly how much she’s given up for him. It isn’t quite the same though, he’s sure there aren’t many things he could do to her she’s never experienced before, and he does want that. Something that’s just theirs. He wants to be the first in something with her.

“I read a lot.”

“I hope you delete your fucking internet history.”

“Malc? Stop talking and let me see if I can make you come using only my fingers.”

“Is that the plan?”

“Pretty much.” She presses a little more firmly then, her finger curling in, still trying to find his prostate and it’s a little more difficult than she anticipated, because really there’s only limited space for where it can be.

“You looking for your fucking keys in there?” he asks, glancing down, trying to see what she’s doing, because it feels sort of different now, slightly awkward and uncomfortable now he hasn’t got anything else to focus on.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” he says a little too quickly, because he’s sure it’s only a matter of time before it gets better and it seems stupid to stop now.

She continues to search, to slide her finger in and out slowly as she presses against him and suddenly his breath hitches quite obviously above her.

“Yeah, _there_.” he says just in case his reaction wasn’t enough of a give away, but that was something different, something wonderful and tingling and _new_.

“Like this?” she asks, rubbing against him gently, drawing slow circles over the small hard area.

The moan she gets in response encourages her to speed up, building up until she’s fucking him with one finger, eyes flicking between his face and cock and she wants to touch him, almost as much as she wants to touch herself, because she really does have absolutely no control when it comes to him and the problem with Malcolm is he’s impossibly sexy when he’s vulnerable, and she’s fairly certain she’s never had him quite this vulnerable before. His lips twitch with every movement of her finger, a low moan to accompany them and it’s perfect, everything she ever imagined and so much more.

“Okay, sweetheart?”

It takes him a moment to answer, too lost in the sensations of what she’s doing to him. “Perfect,” he manages, pressing back against her, wanting more, but not entirely sure how to ask.

She smiles, all too used to reading his body language, because there are so many things they can’t say to each other, and unlike him she doesn’t force him to. Instead she finds his rhythm, pressing against him, still watching every little movement of his face, because he’s no good at controlling his expressions. 

He thrusts against her harder and faster, enjoying this more than he suspects he should. It’s not enough though, and he closes his eyes. It should be enough, because this is new and strange and invading, but it isn’t, because she has her plans and he needs more, it’s all he can think about - how much he wants her filling him because they‘re always been pretty into the whole role reversal thing, but this is on another level and it really is incredible.. “Harder,” he moans, the words somehow coming out of their own accord, because he really doesn’t have the presence of mind to form words.

She bites her lip, tries to control all those urges to fuck him for all she’s worth because he’ll regret it, as will she. “Is this what you want?” she asks, another finger joining the first, pressing against, but not penetrating him,

He presses closer still, unable to say the words.

“Say it,” she says, because she needs the confirmation and because he made that offer of begging and well perhaps it’s a kind of time for payback.

“Yes,” he says. “Please, fuck, please, Grey.”

She smiles down at him as she presses the other finger into him slowly, keeping it pressed against the first so firmly he barely even notices the difference.

“Grey,” he moans, because it isn’t enough. It just isn’t.

“What? What’s up? Do you want me to stop?” She stills her fingers, her eyes searching his face anxiously, because she doesn’t want to hurt him, not like this, not accidentally and without him wanting it.

“More,” he manages, his eyes fixed on hers, pleading for her to understand, because she can normally read his mind, but apparently not now.

“Like this?” she says, as she opens her fingers slightly, stretching him a little more, opening him up.

“Harder.”

She isn’t sure if she should, it feels like a bad idea, but the problem is she’s physically incapable of saying no to Malcolm Tucker and always has been, which is why she tended to stay in his office until 10pm typing up notes, and why now she does exactly as he asks rather than asking him if he’s sure, and making sure he remembers to stop her the moment it’s too much.

The other problem is how utterly and completely sexy it is, the straining of his voice, his desperation and all she wants is to make him come, like this, to know if it’s possible, because he has the ability to make her come so many times and so hard she can’t even _breathe_ for a few seconds, and she wants to give him something close to that, and yes there is something amazing about having him on his back with his arse in the air while she fucks him.

She probably needn’t have worried about any of that though, because he’s thrusting against her, fucking himself on her fingers as she focuses instead on pressing against his prostate, as his moans grow louder, more animalistic and if she didn’t know better she’d be certain she was going to come just from the sight and sound of him.

“Fucking hell I love you,” she says, surprised to find her own voice almost as strained as his.

He smiles at her words, opens his mouth to try and speak but finds all he can manage is another long, drawn out moan. He isn’t entirely sure what’s going on, quite _how_ he’s supposed to come like this. He’s aware of how hard he is, so hard it feels a bit like his cock might actually burst before this is over if he doesn’t do something. Instinctively he reaches down, taking himself in hand, stroking himself, his hand already slick with sweat and he hears her, that intake of breath she takes when she’s especially turned on, the sound she makes when he finally touches her after minutes of torment and that only makes him harder still, knowing she’s watching him and enjoying the sight.

“Fuck,” she pants. It’s almost too much, even watching him is overwhelming and she’s terribly aware of the throbbing between her legs and how much she wants to touch herself, or him to touch her or christ, _anything_ to be happening to her that might release some of the tension. Before she can even think about doing anything though she feels him clamp down on her fingers, as his hand speeds up on his cock and she knows she isn’t going to have to wait much longer before she can take care of herself, or before she’s going to be rewarded for the ache in her hand.

“Bear down,” she says quickly, pressing harder and faster against his prostate. “If you think you’re about to come bear down. Trust me.”

He’s fairly certain nothing could possibly make this better, or make his approaching orgasm better, but he trusts her so completely that it doesn’t even occur to him not to do as she says, as he bears down, hand moving so fast it’s just to blur to her and then it’s happening, all those little sparks collecting together and forming an explosion so powerful he’s sure he feels the world actually melt away and then he’s coming with a guttural cry, too far gone to even swear as he ejaculates harder and longer than he’s come in his whole life, the stream hitting his shoulder. He’s still coming when he feels Grey’s fingers still and her remove them from him slow and gentle. He can see her in his mind’s eye, but can’t open his eyes, can’t do anything but shake and spasm and try to remember how to breathe and how to make his heart beat normally. And then she’s laid down beside him, her fingers trailing in the cooling streaks of come reaching way too far up his body.

“You got some on the pillow,” she says breathless but amused.

He feels her finger tips touching his lips and without even thinking about it he opens his mouth, taking them in and licking them clean.

“I’ve never seen you come like that before. _Jesus_.” She leans over, kisses his shoulder, licks it clean, and he’s still shaking, still trying to piece himself together enough to be able to do something other than lay there spent as she revels in the aftermath beside him.

“You are the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He turns his head and smiles at her, finally manages to open his eyes and notes the come on her cheek. He’s sure he should say something, but there are a lot of things going around his head, though admittedly most of them are strings of obscenities because there are no other words to describe quite how amazing that was.

“So…should I start considering strap-ons?”

He laughs, turns over and pulls her against him, not caring about the mess since she clearly doesn’t. “Aye,” he manages. “Why the fuck not, ’ey?”


End file.
